


I'm In Love With A Dying Man

by hunkyharris (orphan_account)



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Character Death, Gore, M/M, Murder, One-Sided Relationship, some minor necrophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-28
Updated: 2014-11-28
Packaged: 2018-02-27 08:52:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2686736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/hunkyharris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During Elimination Chamber, Bray and Dean disappeared from the match momentarily, the two of them caught up in their own little combat, but what if they never returned?</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm In Love With A Dying Man

**Author's Note:**

> Guess what, children, I have another Ambyatt fic for you!! :^)  
> Okaaaay, so let me just warn you right here, this is a pretty dark depiction of Bray/Dean, especially when you consider my previous fics about them. Let's just say it doesn't really go like the others, but I just wanted to explore a new angle of their relationship, which can be pretty fucked up if you think about it. Anyway, I don't really know how to describe this other than a fic about Bray being totally obsessed with Dean and would rather murder him than let him be with anyone else. Because, let's face it, their whole feud is basically Bray being extremely bitter because Dean won't be his boyfriend. So, if this shit ain’t for you, or you're looking for something more along the lines of a fluffy fic with Dean being equally affectionate towards Bray as Bray is towards him, then well, turn back now, I guess.

His name was Dean.

The name stuck out in Bray's mind like color among hues of gray.

The metaphor fit, Bray felt, in it's own strange little way. Because Dean just seemed to shine against the rest of the WWE roster, he was nothing like Bray had ever seen before.

Bray had learned his name before he had the honors of meeting him. Everyone talked about Dean Ambrose, and even Bray heard the whispers of how the Shield was dominating the WWE.

The Shield. Bray didn't feel like it did Dean any justice, the other two only slowed him down in the end, deprived him of the spotlight that Dean deserved to bask in alone.

Dean was different than Seth Rollins and Roman Reigns, and Bray could see this the first time he laid eyes on them together. Dean captured his interest immediately, Reigns and Rollins were just dull in comparison.

People praised Reigns for being the "power house", the force and muscle behind the Shield, and they recognized Rollins as being the brains, the more calculative one. But, what was this other magnificent creature? What was Dean Ambrose? Unpredictable? Crazy?

They couldn't label a man like Dean if they tried. Bray was almost disgusted that they were even attempting to.

Ironically enough, it was the same labels they had tried sticking Bray with. Crazy. Insane. Out of his mind.

Maybe it was a sign that their paths should cross eventually, and together, they could show this world just how _insane_ they were capable of becoming. Leave nothing in their wake but destruction. The thought made Bray smile.

\- - - -

It wasn't long before Bray decided to make his interest in the Shield known, and he, along with devoted Harper and Rowan, ruined the Shield's chances for the opportunity in the Elimination Chamber. Bray knew what he was doing, and while the Shield thought of themselves as the mysterious type, Bray knew that they wouldn't take this lying down. They wanted revenge, of course, they wanted a match with Bray and his family at the pay-per-view, how very predictable.

However, Bray wasn't interesting in battling with the Shield, he wasn't too worried about who won this war, but the Shield, being the competitive, power-hungry sheep they were, would either win or die trying.

But, if it took a war to get him to Dean Ambrose, then Bray would go out fighting.

And, Bray knew that once a war such as this was among them, it would put the Shield's ties to the test. Oh, when they were dominating their opponents, they couldn't get along any better, but when there was an actual threat, they were starting to turn on themselves.

It made them weak, and it was the perfect opportunity for Bray to get Dean alone.

And get him alone, he did.

Predictably, Dean attacked Bray, practically handing the chance over to him on a silver platter, and the two of them tumbled over the barricade and fought each other through the audience.

It was easy enough to take Dean out, but he fought back, of course he did, but Bray managed to get him unconscious with a few blows to the head and repetitively ramming the back of his skull into the concrete floor below them.

People screamed around them, and they seemed to scream even more when they saw that Dean was bleeding.

There was a patch of blood left behind on the floor, and Dean’s hair was matted with the flowing substance, caking it with an array of gore that Bray felt suited him.

Soon enough, Bray was escaping the arena, Dean’s lifeless form hoisted up in his arms, and he carried him to the rental Bray had seen Dean arrive in earlier that day.

Bray placed Dean gently in the passenger’s seat, buckling him in and pressing an apologetic kiss to his forehead before getting behind the wheel of the rental. He found the keys in the floor underneath the seat easily enough and the two of them left the arena.

He was abandoning Harper and Rowan, but Bray had complete confidence in them that they could handle themselves.

It’s quiet in the car as Bray gets on the interstate, having turned off whatever loud obnoxious music that immediately blared from the radio when Bray had cranked the car.

He passes by the hotel that the rest of the roster would be staying in once the show was over, and soon enough, Bray sees a sign that announcing that they are leaving Minneapolis, and Bray now knows his destination.

He’s taking Dean home.

Dean stirs in his seat, clutching at his head, and Bray glances at him from the corner of his eye.

"Dean, man," Bray says, the words breaking off into a humorless chuckle.

"When are you gonna open your eyes," Bray glances over again at a barely conscious Dean Ambrose. "When are you gonna finally see the truth?"

Dean groans out, his form slumped over in the seat. Bray's not sure that Dean's actually focused on his words, but he continues anyway.

"Don't you see how they treat you? When are you gonna allow yourself to wander away from the flock?"

"What the - _fuck_?" Dean hisses out, his eyes focusing and unfocusing on his environment. His head fucking hurts, and it takes him a minute to realize he's in a car, speeding down the interstate, with Bray Wyatt.

"Look at how weak and pitiful you are," Bray says the words with disgust. "Look at what they've drove you to becoming.”

“Wha-where am I?” Panic settles in Dean, and he’s looking around with wide eyes. “What the fuck’s going on?”

“You’re safe,” Bray assures him, and it seems that now, Dean’s only just realizing who his company is, and it does nothing to ease him. “we’re gonna take a little trip together.”

“What? Oh, no, no, no,” Dean’s movements are limited with the seat belt tight around his torso, but now, he’s groping frantically at the door handle, trying to get it open even though he’s in a moving vehicle going 75 mph.

Bray could have guessed Dean would try and escape once he came to, he just figured that it would be while they were stopped at a gas station somewhere, so Bray locked his door from the inside, making Dean’s efforts futile.

“Don’t be foolish, boy,” Bray warns, and Dean’s still fussing with the door handle. “you’ll fall out into traffic and get yourself killed.”

“Better than being in here with your fucking deranged ass,” even with a nasty blow to the head and probably a mild concussion, Dean Ambrose can still hiss out insults. How fascinating.

“I’m saving you, Dean, you should be thanking me,” Bray’s offended. “your boys, they were planning your downfall from the moment you joined them. They’re backstabbers, Dean.”

“Damn it,” Dean gives up on his escape and falls back in his seat with a defeated sigh. “just tell me where the hell we’re going, okay?”

“You’ll see soon enough,” Bray grins over at him and Dean looks like a child pouting in his seat, arms crossed and a scowl etched into his features.

Looking at him now, with the moonlight streaming in through the window perfectly, giving Dean this certain glow about him, Bray’s almost taken back at how beautiful Dean looks in this moment.

There’s fear in Dean’s eyes, and he keeps figiting around in his seat. His head has stopped bleeding, but Dean will check it every couple of minutes to make sure, and his features will contort into the slightest pained expression as his fingertips graze across the sensitive flesh.

Dean notices Bray’s staring and his eyes shift over to glare at Bray, the frown only deepening. “What? Quit looking at me like that, you’re starting to give me the fucking creeps.”

Bray chuckles and focuses back on the road. He can feel himself developing a certain fondness for Dean, that he knows, in the end, will only make this difficult. He had felt the same way about Daniel Bryan. Bray had almost fell in love with the traitor and it left what remainders of his heart he still had left to shatter when Daniel had betrayed him.

He should have put Daniel out while he had the chance, but he didn’t, and Bray was the one hurt in the end. But, now, Bray knows, that if Dean won’t join him, he has to do the same with Dean.

\- - - - -

A few hours later, they’re well away from Minneapolis, Minnesota, and Bray pulls into a small deserted gas station. Dean’s dead tired, but he won’t let himself fall asleep in Bray’s presence, he has to be awake and alert and ready in case Bray tries something, which he hasn’t yet, surprisingly, but that doesn’t mean he won’t.

Dean doesn’t trust Bray, especially in the middle of nowhere where Bray could just dump his dead body off in a bush somewhere and nobody would notice until the smell was so strong you couldn’t ignore it.

It has to be early in the morning, because Dean can see the sun is starting to rise, and he wonders how worried Roman and Seth are about his disappearance. Dean starts to grope his pocket, searching for his cell phone, only to realize for the umpteenth time that he left it behind in their locker room at the arena. _Fuck._

Bray looks at him before he gets out of the car, a smile forming on his face, and Dean wants nothing more than to just smack him.

“Don’t go anywhere, beautiful,” Bray says, and it’s like he’s mocking him, because he knows Dean can’t go anywhere, because he’s fucking locked inside this damn car.

Dean manages to hiss out a “fuck you,” as Bray gets out of the car, and Dean can hear him laugh in response.

While Bray’s in the gas station, Dean considers briefly just rolling down the window and screaming his head off for someone to help him. It’s a stupid thought and he immediately decides against it. There’s literally no one around and it would only get Bray angry at him in the end, and he just _might_ throw his dead body in a bush somewhere if Dean was to make an attempt as foolish as this.

Soon enough, Bray returns to the car, tossing a bag of chips and a soda onto Dean’s lap.

“Thought you might be hungry,” Bray explains and they’re back on the road.

\- - - - -

It seems like they’ve been on the road for days and Dean still has no fucking clue as to where Bray is taking him.

It’s sometime in the afternoon, and Dean’s been drifting in and out of sleep, mostly because he could barely hold his eyes open. Bray isn’t talking anymore, just staring blankly at the road, and Dean’s too exhausted to try and start up an argument.

The tension between them is there, it’s almost suffocating, and Dean wishes Bray would just say _something_ so it wouldn’t be so damn quiet.

The silence is starting to get to Dean, so he reaches over to turn on the radio, and Bray watches his movements carefully. Bray lets him turn it on and when Dean settles back in his seat, he realizes it’s some stupid Taylor Swift song playing. He automatically remembers that Seth was the one to drive them to the arena, and since they all agreed that whoever drove got to pick the music, he and Roman spent an hour and a half listening to Seth’s Taylor Swift CD.

Dean groans out, and reaches over to turn the radio off, but Bray grabs at his hand and holds it, interlacing their fingers together, preventing Dean’s attempt to turn off the radio.

Now, Bray’s just fucking with him.

Dean doesn’t pull his hand away, and he probably couldn’t anyway since Bray’s hand has a vice grip on his, so he just falls back into the seat, his gaze going to the window.

“Fucking kill me,” Dean breathes out and Bray’s got a smile back on his face.

\- - - -

Dean’s asleep when Bray pulls the car to a stop in front of the Wyatt Compound, and the sound of the engine cutting off rouses Dean and he peers around sleepily.

“What happened,” Dean yawns. “where are we?”

“We’re home,” Bray says and it doesn’t take long for Dean to figure out exactly where they are.

“What the fuck,” Dean looks to Bray incredulously. “you brought me _here_? To the Wyatt Compound? Why would you bring me _here_?”

Bray doesn’t respond, only flashes Dean this oddly fond look before getting out of the car and circling around to open Dean’s door for him.

\- - - -

Maybe an hour has passed, it’s late in the evening, the sun is setting, and Dean is sitting with Bray at his kitchen table. Dean’s isn’t sure what stopped him from just fleeing when he had the chance, except for maybe that he’s in the middle of nowhere, Louisiana, and he doesn’t have the slightest idea of how to get back to civilization.

The Wyatt Compound reminds Dean of one of those Amish countries, complete with older houses and it’s residents sporting clothing that look like they’re from at least a century ago. Dean has no idea what Bray has told these people, or how he’s convinced them that this is the place for them to be, but they all look happy, and they greeted Bray warmly as he dragged Dean inside his house.

“Who’s that,” one kid has asked Bray as he and Dean passed by. “who’s that with Brother Bray?”

“It’s none of your concern, little one,” Bray had responded cordially. “he won’t be here for long.”

Dean had gave Bray a look but Bray refused to meet his gaze. He didn’t know what Bray meant by that, and he was sure he didn’t want to. Either he meant it as Dean would be going back home, or...

No, that couldn’t be it, Bray’s not _that_ fucked up.

While Bray’s house looks like a run down, haphazardly painted white shack from the outside, on the inside it seems more ... _homey_. It’s warm, but dimly lighted, the only source of light coming from a few burning candles in holsters on the walls. It gives Bray this eerie glow as he sits back in the kitchen chair, humming quietly to himself as he slices an apple for Dean to eat.

Dean had insisted that he could eat it like a normal person, not have it cut up into slices for him like a child, but maybe Bray has this fatherly thing going for him and he wants to take care of Dean, you know, before he _takes care_ of Dean.

No, no, that wasn’t going to happen. Dean tried to rid the thoughts from his brain.

_You’re fine, Ambrose. You’re fine._

“Listen, I appreciate whatever the hell this is, you know, but I gotta get back,” Bray’s eyes flash up to Dean as he speaks. “I mean, Roman and Seth are probably worried about me.”

“I don’t think that,” Bray says. “your brothers don’t care for you, they’re holding you back.”

“What?”

“Haven’t you ever dreamed of just one day, stepping out of their shadows? I know you have,” Bray pauses in the process of slicing the apple, using the knife to gesture wildly with as he speaks. “You want your own spotlight, you hate having to share your victories, you want to be recognized for your own potential.”

“I-I ... I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Dean’s eyes are locked on the knife, and it seems to gleam back at him.

“You’re better than them, Dean, you know it, I know it, the entire universe knows it. They know it too, and it terrifies them, they don’t want you to shine brighter than them.”

“It’s not like that-”

“Are you forgetting how Roman Reigns implied that _he_ would win over you if the Shield got that chance in the chamber,” Bray cuts Dean off mid-sentence. “He’s trying to make you think he’s better than you.”

“Yeah, but, come on, he didn’t mean it like that, we were just on edge because your fucking family attacked us-”

“No, no, I was helping you see just how much they appreciate you,” Bray brushes off the accusation. “They don’t, darlin’, not at all. They would rather spit on you than let you win over them.”

“So, what’s your point, you trying to make me feel bad or something?”

“Or something,” Bray smiles. “if anything I want to encourage you, to see that you’re better than them, that you don’t need them to get to success. The Shield is a trap and in the end will only drag you down. They don’t love you, Dean, they never could love you.”

“I know that feeling, that you’re better than everyone around you and all they want to do is make you blind to the truth. You and I,” Bray gestures between the two of them. “we could rule the world, I can give you the satisfaction of knowing that everyone who has ever wronged you is burning, they will know the pain that you have known. That, is something you can’t accomplish from the shadows of your so-called ‘brothers’.”

“No-”

“I can fix you, Dean. I can help you,” Dean doesn’t necessarily understand what Bray means by this, and he wasn’t aware that he needed help in the first place. “I can be your savior, all you have to do is let me in.”

“I don’t need any _saving_ ,” Dean’s starting to feel trapped. “I’m fine, just take me the fuck home.”

“I can’t,” Bray replies. “they can’t have you, darlin’, I won’t let them.”

“What are you saying?”

“Let me fix you, Dean.” the words are barely a whisper now.

“No, damn it,” Dean brings his fist down upon the table hard. He’s tired of playing games. “Take me home, now! I’m tired of this bullshit, I just wanna go the fuck home!”

“You have no choice in that, I’m afraid. Either you walk with me on the path of righteousness, or you walk with me on the path of internal damnation.” There’s this glint in Bray’s eyes that makes Dean understand. He glances down at the knife in Bray’s hand, his fingers clutched around the handle, ready to strike at any moment.

_He’s gonna fucking murder me._

“Get the fuck away from me.” Dean gets up from the table, more like jumps up, and the chair turns over onto the wooden floor with Dean’s sudden movement.

Bray stands, his grip tightening around the knife and Dean backs away slowly, his gaze never leaving Bray’s face. It’s almost terrifying how emotionless Bray looks right now.

“It doesn’t have to be like this, Dean,” Bray says, following after Dean in careful, noiseless steps. “it doesn’t have to end this way.”

“Fuck you.” Dean hisses the words out, and his back connects with the door frame. He looks around for an escape and his eyes land on the stairs and before he can think, he’s tearing out of the kitchen and making for his escape.

It’s a stupid decision, Dean decides as his foot is on the middle step, because if he goes up stairs, he’s trapped, and the only way out is to jump through a window. He glances behind him to see that Bray is following rather easily, the knife still in his hand, and Dean has no choice but to go up stairs.

When he gets up stairs, much to Dean’s dismay, he finds that most of the doors he comes across won’t budge open, so he’s standing there, fussing with the door handles while Bray is getting dangerously close to him. Finally, he reaches a door that will open, and Bray is within arm’s length, but when Dean opens the door, he discovers it to be a bathroom, a dead end.

Within a moment’s hesitation, Bray shoves Dean into the bathroom and slams the door.

Dean falls to the floor with a thud, but he quickly scrambles to lean up against the porcelain tub. Bray stands in front of him, eying him hungrily, ready for the kill.

 _Run._ The word comes to Dean’s mind like a whisper. _Run, run, run, fucking run._

Bray notices Dean eying the door behind him, a look of determination settling over his features, and Bray knows Dean’s escape wouldn’t work.

Maybe Dean knows it too, but it certainly doesn’t stop him from springing up from his position and racing to the door. Bray catches him easily enough, wrapping an arm around his waist and he holds Dean there for a minute.

Dean’s swinging his arms wildly, trying to tear and punch at anything within his grasp, but Bray just laughs at Dean’s futile attempt before throwing him back down to the floor. A groan escapes Dean’s lips as his body collides with the hard tile and Bray is on him, pinning him down to the floor.

Dean’s eyes go wide with terror as he registers the knife being raised above his head.

“No, damn it,” Dean almost screams the words. “ _No, damn it, no_!”

Dean grabs at Bray’s wrist holding the knife and manages to effectively head butt the other man. Bray’s taken off guard for a moment, giving Dean ample time to get to his feet once more and scramble to the door. It’s a different door than the one he tried escaping out before, and he has no idea what might be behind it, but he can only hope it’s not something like a closet, another dead end.

Bray regains his composure just as Dean gets the door open, discovering that it leads to a bedroom, probably belonging to Bray.

Soon enough, Bray gets Dean within his grasp and throws him to the hard wooden floors. Bray’s atop Dean, and Dean struggles beneath him, but to no avail.

Bray’s got Dean’s wrists pinned down above his head with one hand, and the knife is still tightly gripped in the other.

_This is it. It’s happening._

Dean’s got his eyes clenched shut, expecting to be stabbed, punched, slapped across the face, just _something_ , but it never came.

The knife isn’t in Bray’s hand anymore, but instead lying on the ground beside them, and Dean feels Bray put a hand on his cheek. It’s a gentle and soft gesture, but Dean doesn’t allow his eyes to open. It’s a trick, Dean thinks, and soon enough, he would feel the knife penetrating through his flesh.

“Open your eyes, darlin’,” Bray whispers out, his fingers gently pressed against Dean’s face.

Dean doesn’t obey, and instead hisses out another, “fuck you.”

Dean’s breathing is heavy, and he can hear it pierce through the silence of the house. His heart is thumping against his rib cage, and he can feel Bray’s eyes boring into him.

Bray’s hand brushes down lower to Dean’s throat, and he can feel the blood pumping there. Dean’s scared.

Bray’s hand tightens around his neck, and Dean’s eyes fly open, any sound that he tried forcing out being cut off by the large fingers, clenching tightly and painfully around his windpipe.

Dean tries to pry Bray’s grip off his throat, but he’s starting to see spots in his vision as Bray’s fingers tighten even more. Bray sees Dean growing limp and Dean can feel his consciousness start to fade.

And Bray lets go.

Dean’s hands go up to his throat and he can feel the bruises starting to form there. He’s heaving and panting and choking, trying to get air back to his lungs. He feels dizzy and disoriented, and his eyes focus on the gleam of the knife back in Bray’s hand.

If he had it in him, Dean would have screamed.

“No...” Dean pleads, his voice coming out as a hoarse whisper, and he feels the first stab penetrate through his stomach.

Dean gives a yell, and the sound breaks off into a gurgle.

Bray digs the knife deeper into Dean as he squirms underneath him, the energy slowly draining from Dean’s eyes.

“You chose this,” Bray says. “you chose your fate.”

“ _Fuck_ you.” Dean tries to spit at Bray, but it falls short.

Bray retrieves the knife from Dean’s stomach and it’s caked with his blood. Dean’s breathing has slowed significantly, and there’s this registering emotion flaring in his eyes. Mostly rage and pain, but a hint of sadness when he thinks how he’ll never see Seth nor Roman again. He won’t see anyone ever again. The last person he’ll ever see is Bray.

Dean knows he’s almost done for.

Bray sinks the knife in Dean’s stomach one final time, and Dean gasps out, twitching slightly, feeling the life drain from him.

A pained smile contorts on Dean’s face as he glares up at Bray.

“See you in hell, Bray.” It’s almost inaudible, but there’s no mistaking the venom laced within Dean’s tone. It’s the last words he’ll ever speak.

As Bray watches the light leave his eyes, he now knows that he's completely in love with Dean Ambrose.

He leans down, removing the knife from Dean’s stomach and lets it clatter to the floor, and presses his lips against Dean’s, capturing his final breath in a painfully desperate kiss.

It’s too late, but it had to be done.

Dean doesn’t respond, and Bray can feel the warmth from his skin starting to go. His lips are cold against Bray’s and he knows Dean’s gone.

Bray breaks the kiss, caressing the side of Dean’s face with a bloodied hand, and Dean stares back up at him, his expression peaceful but his eyes distant.

“I’m sorry,” Bray mumbles the words against Dean’s lips. “I just want you to know, I didn’t want it to end like this, but you wouldn’t let it.”

“Why wouldn’t you just let me fix you, why?” Bray’s voice breaks off into a whimper that sounds much too helpless to be coming from him. There’s blood on the side of Dean’s face from where Bray’s hand is, and it looks beautiful against pale skin. Bray is briefly reminded of how Dean looked when he attacked him back at the arena.

Beautifully bloodied and helpless.

\- - - - -

Time has passed and before Bray knows it, it’s a few days later.

When he had finally moved off of Dean’s body, he wasn’t entirely sure what to do with it. He couldn’t just bury it in the backyard, like he was some dead family dog, no, that was demeaning to someone like Dean.

Maybe he would preserve his body, so it would be like Dean hadn’t really left him at all.

Dean’s beautiful face that Bray was always mesmerized by every time he laid eyes on him was something he definitely wanted to keep for himself.

Bray ended up decapitating Dean’s head from the rest of his body and it was now placed in Bray’s freezer. Sometimes Bray would just go to the kitchen to stare at it.

The more he looked at Dean’s face, the more he wished things would have turned out differently.

And that’s where Bray finds himself days later, sitting in front of the freezer, staring at Dean’s face blankly.

"I'm sorry it had to be this way, Dean,” Bray says, and the thought of how odd it must look that he’s sitting in his kitchen talking to a severed head never even crosses his mind. “but, you wouldn't let me help you, you wouldn't let us be. I couldn't let them have you, man, no way. I couldn't just let them take you away from me.”

In his hands, Bray has Dean’s leather jacket, and if he looks closely enough, he can still make out the remnants of blood from that night.

“I miss you, you know,” Bray looks up from the jacket. “I miss talking to you and you talking back, even if it was just you mocking me with that sarcastic tone in your voice, it was _you,_ you know.”

He laughs at the memory of their promos together, and their short time in the car together, all of which Dean had tried picking a fight aimlessly. Dean liked to argue, there was no doubt about that.

“I miss your smile,” there’s still a hint of the chuckle left in Bray’s voice. “that sadistic grin you'd get when you just beat your opponent within an inch of his life.”

When he looks at Dean’s face, he imagines it has a look of accusation.

“Look, I didn't want it to be this way, you have to understand that.” Bray says almost defensively. “I don’t want to blame you, darlin’, I just-”

He’s cut off by the sound of the front door opening and soft footsteps approaching him. Bray vaguely wonders if it’s Reigns or Rollins come to deliver the same fate to him that Dean had suffered through, a part of him hopes it is.

“We won,” Bray recognizes Luke Harper’s voice but he doesn’t meet his gaze. “I see Ambrose is taken care of.”

“Yeah,” Bray says, his voice almost broken. “he’s gone.”

The words are almost painful to say, but it’s the truth.

Dean Ambrose was gone.


End file.
